


Armsmaster Meets Tinker Danny

by God1643



Series: Incomplete Works: Up For Adoption [4]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Gen, Tinker Danny Hebert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God1643/pseuds/God1643
Summary: Pretty much what it says on the tin.Thanks for stopping by.
Series: Incomplete Works: Up For Adoption [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807423
Kudos: 28





	Armsmaster Meets Tinker Danny

She was a New Trigger. One who had lead myself and my allies in the Protectorate on a considerable chase. From what we could extrapolate, she was at least an uncontrolled telepath/shaker, broadcasting her own thoughts at an uncontrolled pace.

From what little the PRT Think Tank had been able to say definitively through their headaches, she wasn’t able to lie in this state.

If that was true, it raised some intense thoughts regarding my own Wards.

Or rather, one particular Ward.

I felt my helmet slightly vibrate, and pinned a button on my HUD with an eye-tracking program Dragon had whipped up for me during an afternoon nap a while ago. The call opened, the contact emblazoned in the left lower corner of my Visor.

I felt my bike rumble underneath me as I turned the corner and pulled gently on the throttle, careful not to engage the overdrivers with an errant press of the button. I should probably move the overdrive button, now that I think about it.

“Armsmaster.” I didn’t bother with flowery greetings, never had.

“We’ve got a situation.” Miss Militia didn’t bother with them either.

I... appreciated her.

“Tell me.” Dragon, or rather one of her many programs embedded in the PRT and my own armour, helpfully provided GPS coordinates and engaged my HUD-NAV. I checked my mirrors and swapped lanes.

“The New Trigger’s father got into contact with the PRT. Supposedly, his daughter gathered evidence supporting the allegations raised against Shadow Stalker’s civilian identity. Velocity and Dauntless are engaged across the city, and you’re the only other one trained in CSI. Make for the address and verify the evidence.”

I sighed.

“Affirmative.”

Militia paused for a moment, not ending the call.

“We’ll help her, Colin. Don’t lose sight of what we’re here to do, whatever Glenn or Piggot will say or have said. We do this job to help people like her, scared, alone, confused. You remember what it was like.”

I did.

All too well.

The closing walls, the tiny breaths, the roaring furnace of snarling rage in my chest, the determination which had done nothing but practically turn me into a robot that just tinkered and slept, but most of all, I remembered how alone I felt, even surrounded by others.

And then… the feel of the wrench in my hands, the copper slicing my palms and the wiring shocking myself and the Russian when he reached down for me.

I had won.

Now, all I had to do was help this girl win her own battle.

...

...

I would.

The house was run-down, the exterior paint peeling in the brutal bay-side humidity. It looked, admittedly, quite a bit like the apartment building downtown my civilian identity lived in. Or rather, where my body double was currently curled up napping after a long day ‘working’.

Man, I hated that guy.

I was broke from my thoughts by the door opening, and a man stepping out onto the porch. He waved me back a bit, an unhurried but concerned motion.

“The bottom step’s rotten. It won’t take your weight.” He paused, then tilted his head consideringly. “Nor will this cursed porch, actually. Come to the back door, the steps are concrete.” He hopped the bottom step and trudged out back, my armour leaving large bootprints sunk deep in the muddy grass.

The back door was glass, dirty, and it squeaked a bit when it slid open. I had to duck to step inside, but I was long used to that with my halberd on my back.

“Her room’s upstairs. Once I saw what the diaries contained I stopped. Saw on a crime show a while back that people aren’t supposed to futz with evidence.”

“Good thinking.” I wasn’t good with social interaction, mainly cause I didn’t give the niceties often. This wasn’t a nicety, it was an honest, if  _ very _ simple compliment. Mature people liked those more than bubbly garbage.

“The stairs should take your weight, but…” The man trailed off, then shrugged. I flicked on the thrusters in my back, an idle hum and small exhaust whirring to life.

“What was that?”

“Thrusters. Vertical lift. Cuts effective weight to a quarter. I’m lighter than you now, if only downward.” I explained, stepping up after him. He pointed me into a room. A small, neatly made bed with a blue, hand-knit bedspread was to one side, and to the other was a desk with a large binder set out on it.

I knelt, not wanting to subject the old chair to my weight, to more closely examine the binder. I disengaged the thrusters once I thought I could trust the floor, and it barely creaked under my weight. I settled in to read. Within fifteen minutes, I was frustrated.

Within half an hour, I was angry.

Within fourty five minutes, I was  _ furious _ .

And by the end of the binder, when the girl was finally seeming hopeful again, only for it to get crushed,  _ I was fucking seething _ . I stood, only the instinct of flicking the thrusters on saving the Hebert home from a hole in the floor, and stomped downstairs, to where Danny had said he’d be waiting.

As I passed, I caught a glimpse of a framed piece of paper.

_ A gap toothed girl, an incredibly bright smile. Her laughter was infectious, even to my battered brain, as she danced a little jig and held an autographed photo to her chest. _

_ I knelt, my armour heavier than its modern equivalent, thunking heavily even on the new concrete of this sidewalk, and met the girl’s gaze on level ground. I reached behind me, ejected one of the dented teeth from my battered, nearing-decommissioning Halberd and placed it in her hand. _

_ “Be careful not to cut yourself now. It’s sharp. Think of me when you’re saving the world.” She nodded, grinning wide, and hugged my neck. _

_ I barely felt it through the armour, but splayed a hand on her back and patted her softly. She ran excitedly back to her parents, a broadly-muscled man, young but already balding, and a woman that practically made the girl look like a Mini-Me. _

‘ _ Don’t lose sight of what we’re doing _ .’ Miss Militia echoed in my mind.

I stepped forward, placing a hand on the frame. There, taped to the page, was the dented tooth. I lifted the frame from the wall, striding slowly down the steps to the man sitting in the kitchen.

“What you got there?” There was an edge in his voice. I turned the framed picture to face him. It was a piece of printer paper, a signed polaroid picture of me helping load a man into an ambulance. The girl,  _ Taylor _ , had taken it and had then convinced me, somehow, not to confiscate it for informational security, but to sign it and let her have it.

“What happened to you? I remember you as a strong man.”

He chuckled a bit, clearly, (even to me) surprised I had remembered him and his daughter.

“Desk job, my friend. Desk job. You made her whole year, you know. Even my Annette got a bit sick of Taylor mentioning it.” He chuckled a bit, a rough, raw, brutally short noise.

“I’ll get her back. If any of the Gangs try to capture that sweet little girl I’ll  _ rip them to pieces myself _ .” I wasn’t usually an emotional man.

“You’ll have to get in line, my friend. Behind the whole DWA.” He chuckled, and I remembered where I knew this man from.

“Oh, those poor fools…” I murmured. The man’s returning grin was shark-like and completely lacking remorse.

“It was their own fault.” The smaller man observed. I nodded, feeling a little upturn of my lips come without my direction. I placed the frame down on his table. Reaching outward, the gauntlet on my hand split in half and pulled down, wrapping around my wrist and exposing my own hand.

He shook. Despite what strength was gone in his arms from admin, his fingers were sure, and  _ painfully _ strong. He had calluses on calluses, packed in places unusual for the average desk-jockey.

They felt familiar.

Because  _ they were _ .

Danny Hebert had  _ tinker’s hands _ . His eyes blanked at the realization he had made, somehow deducing that I knew. He tightened his grip.

“Specialization?” He said, going through the ‘Tinker Introduction’ the whole world had heard through parabolic mic from Hero decades ago.

“Miniaturization.” I admitted, candid. Very few Tinker’s lied during this, and those that did rapidly found it difficult to acquire materials from other Tinkers. Even saying you didn’t know when you did was considered a significant faux pas. “Yours?”

“AI-Run Helpers. Micro and Macro.” A small kitten, crafted entirely of fine brass, appeared on his shoulder, having somehow been resting behind. And behind me, there was a low rumbling noise. A dog prowled forth from the basement, slinking into the room and sitting calmly by Danny’s side. It was black, with a pulsating orange heart that made a whispery whirring noise.

“How large?”

“Haven’t hit a limit, issues only arise if I rush a prototype or plug-in a command wrong.” He replied, honestly. “How small?”

“Haven’t hit a limit. The longer I spend on one idea, the smaller I can make it. Alter it slightly, however, even thinking about a speaker being capable of making one more decibel, and it’s no longer pin-hole sized like the one that was a single decibel quieter. Now, it’s concert-hall sized again.” It felt… nice to go through the introduction again.

I missed it.

There were very few old-school Tinkers left, one was myself, one was now a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine, another was in Toybox, and the two others I had already run through The Introduction with. And Hero was long-dead.

I broke the shake.

“No interest in the Protectorate?”

“None anymore.”

“You won’t interfere in us finding your daughter?”

“So long as she isn’t hurt. If she is… well…” The dog leaned forward, and a growl rumbled forth. “Him…” Danny pointed at the dog. “And all his big brothers may end up taking... _exception_.”

I was hesitant, but it had to be asked.

“How big?”

The older man’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Haven’t hit a limit.”

I knew immediately I wouldn’t get a more solid answer, so I nodded, and left.

On the bike home, with the helmet’s programs sending pictures of the binder’s contents to Dragon for a second opinion, I had only one thought.

‘ _ Good Christ. Kaiser is  _ **_fucked_ ** _.’ _

Dragon concurred.


End file.
